


Never Surrender

by hellorhogwartsfics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, PTSD, Post Season 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:53:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4237929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellorhogwartsfics/pseuds/hellorhogwartsfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy has been on a secret mission for almost a year, now it's time for Angie to get some answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m afraid It’ll be harder to call when we get to the next rendezvous point, Angie Darling.” Peggy Carter’s voice crackled through tin and wire. It was like a beloved song half heard to Angie; she could make out the missing sounds from tone and memory alone.

 

“Can’t you ask our buddy Howie to cover the cost English?” The actress asked, hoping it were that simple as her nimble fingers twisted around the cord. 

 

“I’m going deeper this time. I’ll write, but it’ll be tricky to say the least.”

 

“I suppose you can’t tell me where the…phone company is sendin’ you Peg?”

 

“It’s not about countries anymore Ange. That’s all I can say.”

 

“I know.” There was an odd silence then, one that Angie was starting to notice happen more and more as they spoke. They’d trail off, and it went unnoticed oftentimes because they could communicate the rest with a look at the worst at times, and a smile in the best. Without seeing Peggy’s hazel eyes, she just felt lost. Unsaid pieces were missing, and yet Angie felt their glare.

 

“I miss you terribly.” Peggy finally said. 

 

“I miss you too.” Angie felt the empty room at her back, vast, yet overbearing, and heavy, she wondered madly if it would affect the creases in her uniform. 

 

“You have to go to work now don’t you sweetheart?” 

 

“English, how are you still keeping track of New York time?”

 

“Well I wouldn't want to wake you with my calls.” 

 

“Oh Peg you shouldn't worry I-” _hardly sleep through the night,_ “I sleep like a log most nights anyway.”

 

“In that case I wouldn't want to miss you.”

 

Angie bit back the urge to ask when she’d be back, there was never a set end, only the next step, Peggy’s indecisive answer would only rub salt in both their wounds. Instead she wracked her brains to think of another conversation topic, Angie had rambled on from everything to her mother’s new cannelloni recipe to the second season of the _Captain America Adventure Hour_ and how wildly ludicrous it had become. It had been hours that felt like minutes. Mile a minute Martinelli was finally out of gas. 

 

She bit the bullet figuratively.

 

“I do… have to work. That is.”

 

“I’ll write as soon as I can, there’ll be an address for you so we can correspond.” English’s voice perked up, as if the change in tone would make the prospect more exciting. 

 

“Come back safe Peg.” 

 

“Of course Angie. In no time at all you’ll see.”

 

***

The letters were getting shorter and shorter. When Angie read them, in between the redactions, she could conjure the lilt in Peggy’s voice, the sarcasm, the levity, even that damned adorable accent. Thats how it began at least. 

 

To Angie’s dismay Peggy’s extended“Business trip” was creeping up on the one year mark. 

 

She hadn't been the most disruptive housemate when she was Stateside but her absence and the resounding silence felt as subtle as a brick to the actress. Auditions and small roles had come and gone and yet Angie didn't feel like her excitement was justified until she shared it with Peggy. She’d had a habit those first few months, padding through the rooms of Howard’s spare mansion, checking that each phone was working properly, polishing each headset until they gleamed. Even though the calls had stopped in February, and the L&L had just started putting up Christmas decorations. 

 

Peggy asked questions and reminisced in her letters, but never said a word about how or what she was doing. Angie had almost been too scared to ask. She’d heard her share of horrifying war stories from her brothers, and while she was glad they were back with their wives and children, she felt like she was holding her breath in the same way she had for those damned six years. 

 

Still she pumped as much of Angela Martinelli’s trademark pep into each letter, signed with flourished _‘Love always, Angie’_ not that Peggy could ever pick up on the true implications of such words. She always managed to find a dirty joke or some story where rude Automat customers got what was comin’ to em. More than once she had to redraft after writing ‘ _I wish you were there to see it.’_

 

She’d copied every letter she’d written, just so she could narcissistically reread the whole correspondence, as if this would reveal a clue as to when English’s letter would hit the porch next.

 

It became increasingly difficult to wallow in her depression however, the season of tradition and wild family dinners reared its spangled festive head. 

 

“Where d’ya want this?” Frankie, her brother, wielded her suitcase in one hand while balancing Angie’s squealing nephew under the other.

 

“I still gotta room here don’t I?” 

 

“In the attic with all the P R E S entes, Ange, I’m gonna need you to wrangle a kid or two or distract them with your all Broadway skills.” Frankie grinned as his sisters rolled green eyes at him, scooping little Angelo, the little oxymoron of his namesake, from his father’s strong hand.

 

“Aye aye Cap.” Angie rotated his son so that he was right side up as he wiggled. “How ‘bout we go see Nonna and her il pandoro?”

 

“Aunt Angie it’s rain!” the tike twisted and pointed towards the thunderstorm that Angie had avoided through use of tactical umbrella. Peggy wouldn’t mind that she’d used it this one night, although Angie had a knack for leaving a trail of her accessories in her wake. The L&L had started a collection.

 

“He loves the mud and jumping in the puddles.” Francesca, Frankie’s wife, bobbed beside Angie cooing her second born in a deep sleep against her chest. Her dark hair tied up, but stands fell loose where stress and children combined had teased them free. “You want to keep a grip on that one if when the door opens he’ll make a break for the pothole the Renelli’s milk truck caused last month.”

 

“Such awful weather for the holidays,” Angie mused, lifting Angelo high, to which he squealed with more delight and his mother’s ears rang, “hows Santa meant to fly through all that storm hey bambino?”

 

“Oh he knows,” Francesca chimed in, “All about the magic, and the deer, if his father could make it out of France in a tin can Santa can make it around the world with all he’s got. Speaking of France how’s your roommate? She back from that fancy phone business trip of hers?”

 

Angie tried to mask the pang in her chest her sister-in-law had just administered.

 

“She’s still tied up. She hoped to be back by New Years but…” Angie trailed off, there were no promises. It was a hard lesson to learn.

 

“You mad at her or somethin’? This isn’t affecting your rent and everything is it? Don’t be afraid to just come right out and ask us for a place here-“

 

“Martinelli’s got plenty of room; got it. Don’t sweat it Fran; the rent’s covered. I do my part…English does hers. Perfect roommates.”

 

A shudder scored through her back as lighting flashed, Angelo howled with fear this time, wiggling harder. In the mean time Emiliano didn’t so much as stir at the cranking of the volume. 

 

“Hey, hey Angelo, it’s okay it’s just a bit of thunder.”

 

“Hey there.” Frankie scooped up his son before he sprung himself from Angie’s grip. 

 

“He’s so feisty!”

 

“He get’s like that with strangers is all.”

 

“Wow Frank, way to rub it in.”

 

“Not like that Ange look.” She followed his gaze through the opaque glass in the door, and spotted the silhouette there. 

 

“Who’s missing?” she wondered aloud. Everyone was here, her four brothers, Enrico, Frankie,Galvino and Luc, and their wives and about eight kids between them, her parents, her Aunt, her sons and even the neighbours the Ludos and the Marcell’s. How her mother was crushing this event in her childhood four bedroom home she’ll never know. 

 

The last knock had been covered by the lightning, but here it was again, rapping gently as if they could hear the voices on the other side of the door over the rain and howl of Queens at Christmas.

 

 “Open it and find out.” Frankie groaned at the last words as his eldest yanked at his favourite plaything; his father’s ears.

 

Opening the door she discovered a person resembling a drowned rat, at second look Angie surmised that this was actually Margaret Carter.

 

“Peggy!” 

 

Before the agent could get so much as a how do you do past her ruby lips Angie had closed the space and wrapped her arms around her soaking form. 

 

“Oh _my gosh!_ When did you get in! Why didn't you call!” 

 

That was even if she could bring herself to say a word. When Angie paused to take a breath she realised that Peggy’s came in shudders. Her strong arms were clamping tight around the waitress’ form and shaking, from the cold or how hard she was gripping it was yet to be seen. Angie realised that right this second in the freezing pouring rain the English woman just needed something to cling to, so she let her, fitting her cheek against her shoulder she pondered if there were tears of her own falling down her suddenly numb cheeks.

 

“Why are you letting us get all wet?” Angie decided to ask a less loaded question.

 

“I couldn't find my umbrella.” Peggy answered lamely.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Angie ya maniac get inside before you both become popsicles!” Frankie chuckled.

 

“Rain!” Angelo crowed, leaping free of his fathers grip and sprinting faster than Peggy had ever seen a five year old. Angie barely caught his father’s curse of “Dio cane!” and their mother flinging her shoe at his head from across the room. 

 

She stepped back, Peggy’s head in her hands, grinning harder than she had all year. Peggy met her eyes, there was something sheepish about it, if she had been hiding things before, Angie could tell in that instant that there had only been more added to the cache in their absence. 

 

“God you’re freezing Peg,” she yanked her inside stripping her trench coat and slinging it on the nearest radiator.

 

“I was only out of the cab for about thirty seconds actually.” Her eyes fell to the coats where she spotted her umbrella leaning against the piles of Martinelli boots.

 

“I’m sorry I didn't think-” Angie apologised.

 

“It’s alright honestly-”

 

“Mio dio! Angelo!” Angie’s mother screeched as Angelo reentered the house like a tiny muddy hurricane. 

 

“Ma this is my Peggy- my roommate, Peggy Carter. English this is my mother, Flora.” 

 

“Margaret!” Flora greeted her as if she were one of her own dripping in the doorway, pulling Peggy into a lighter hug and kissing both cheeks. The same soft smile pulling at her lips when as she basked in her daughters own new glow. 

 

She took the source by the hand and dragged her dripping to meet the extended family. Spouting out name after name, and to Angie’s surprise Peggy took to it, greeting each one with a polite, if shivering, hello. 

 

“…My other son Luc and his lovely wife Eva, his brother Galvino and wife Mia, equally lovely, that’s his daughter Maya hiding under the christmas tree with her cousins, and well I don’t know who this is actually who is this?”

 

“Ma this is Mr Ludos’ cousin, Maria… uh,” Galvino snapped his fingers to remember when the girl piped up.

 

“Hi. Carrera,” she gave a short wave, looking just as overwhelmed as Angie thought Peggy should feel. “I’m in Queens for the holidays from college.”

 

“Oh…wonderful.” Flora looked at her as if she had just sprouted wings. “Carter here just got back from a yearlong business trip from _Paris,”_ Peggy shot Angie a surprised highbrow look. 

 

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Peggy reached to shake her hand and turned to Angie, “Actually Mrs Martinelli I just got back and when Angie wasn't home I-I worried so I, I don’t mean to intrude. I’ve got to unpack and debrief, as it were.”

 

“Not at all! Stay! Angela take your stray upstairs before she drowns. _Frankie!_ Take my grandson and change him before he ruins the belly slides my carpet.” 

 

Before she could object further she felt Angie’s hand clasping at her again, it would taste a lie to say she didn't want to whole heartedly follow her. The waitresses rushed and thorough chatter warmed her as they ascended. 

Angie tried not to think about the time she’d snuck Carie Morello up three floors in much the same manner, but of course failed. Even though then it had been fumbling and quiet and terrifying, Angela knew she would never feel this way about any man. She also knew that because of this, she was screwed. She just got Peggy back she couldn't risk scaring her away now; so she kept yammering, eyes front, hand tight she led her up the steps.

 

“ _Angela_.” She stopped just as she’d reached her bedroom door, hand on the knob, she dared look back over her shoulder. Angie found her breath when she realised Peggy was smirking. “Paris?”

 

“Oh right.” Angie tucked her hair behind her ear and pursed her lips, “They kept asking when you’d be back and I told them you were in charge of fixing up the French with new phones courtesy of the Stark Industries,”

 

“You didn't have to lie for me,”

 

“I had to talk about you, Peg. I was always writing those letters,”

 

“Well it was brilliant anyway.”

 

“I could be a spy no?” Peggy’s smile faded briefly, a spark of thinly veiled worry crossed her eyes. “Peg-”

 

“It’s okay.” 

 

“You came here because you were worried about me?” Peggy rubbed her arm self-consciously, wincing a little, Angie tried not to show that through her soaked blouse she could see the bandage poking through.

 

“I didn't even unpack I just dropped my case and hailed the nearest cab. I didn't even know what day it was until I got here.” 

 

She took a moment to really take her in, the ruby lips were a comfort to see again, but now she looked she could spot dark patches of healed skin, track marks on Peggy’s exposed shoulder. Beneath her right eye, dappled feint bruising littered the socket beneath her foundation. 

 

Angie reflected on what it must’ve taken for Peggy to lapse her observation skills in such a way. She was so full of the gesture that she barely thought about what she said next until after it fell out of her mouth. 

 

“What happened over there Pegs?” 

 

Angie suddenly felt like she had just stepped on a land mine. She watched Peggy walk right out of her own head and found herself looking at an empty shell for about thirty seconds. The Agent’s eyes were almost hollow, Angie couldn't stop her hand from cupping Peggy’s cheek.

 

“I’m sorry…I can’t take that risk with you.” Peggy took the hand from her cheek and squeezed. Angie turned her head to hide her hurt, swallowing the golf ball in her throat, nodding and shoving the door open and almost tripping on her suitcase.

 

“Dammit Frankie!” she ripped open her case and yanked out her towel and tossed it up to Peggy, dawdling in the door way as she gazed about Angela Martinelli’s childhood bedroom. The floral print wall paper and upcycled furnishings. There was a tower of teddies on the windowsill, Peggy could just imagine a young Angie pouring over school play scripts there and looking out over the vibrant suburb. 

 

Angie tossed up a spare blouse and pulled out a sweater for herself, avoiding Peggy’s eye she turned her back and started to change. Peggy almost yelped and shut the door, proceeding to do the same. 

 

Angie had switched in lightning time, it was an after thought that she may have flashed Peggy her brazier strapped shoulders. _Peggy’s an army girl,_ she thought, _she’s used to a lot worse in the world of nudity._ When she turned her second after thought was that Peggy wasn’t as fast a dresser as she. She ogled her back, the curve, the perfect line of her spine and estimated what it would take to unclasp the only piece of clothing on the Englishwoman’s torso. Her green eyes absorbed the constellations of scars, two on her right shoulder, either side of where a strap pinched her skin, a few more above her hip. It took all her effort to turn away, especially now that her mouth had gone dry and blood had rushed south. 

 

Folding her arms she suddenly found her bedroom carpet incredibly interesting. She had to say something, anything to stay the blush that dusted her cheeks.

 

“I already know what you do,” she began, “Leviathan, the SSR, you trusted me with all that. It’s not like we’re being listened to anymore. No one is redacting anything or going to use it against you. I’m your friend Peg. I want to be there for you.”

 

“You are.” Peggy touched her arm, unaware of the pulse it sent through her already goosepimpled skin. Apparently that was all she had in her to say. 

 

“I’ve been so worried you know? I thought I was going to go grey.”

 

“I think I hear your mother calling for dinner.”

 

“Yeah her voice travels through all three floors, I used to get the crows complianin’”

 

“I can imagine.” Peggy hummed, still making no effort to leave, thumb still tracing arches on Angie’s shoulder. “Are you sure I’m not a bother to your mother? I hate to impose on your traditional activities.” _Leave it to English to make Christmas sound so boring._

 

“You kiddin’ English? That woman could feed a small army, in fact with you and my brothers in the same room, we pretty much have one. The Martinelli regimen of Dean Street.”  She noticed the way her eyes glazed over then, “Just to warn ya, I’ll grab the seat next to you, if they get too rowdy just grab onto me and we’ll have left the gas on and the mansion could pop open like the fourth of July.”

 

Again, Angie was blindsided as Peggy switched, passing dishes, sharing banter, keeping four veterans on their toes at the dinner table.

 

“Frankie says you work for Howard Stark? In the newspaper he looks so handsome you know, even when he was being indicted, and that voice of his, you know so dreamy, so smart.” Maria sat across from Peggy, it seems the half hour of exposure to the Martinelli clan had loosened her lips, as did the seasonal sherry. She had a long term celebrity crush on none other than their philanthropic landlord.

 

“He’s intelligent I’ll give him that…” Peggy started, unsure of how exactly to begin explaining her experience of the scientist.

 

“Aye Peggy just wants him all to herself,” Eva chuckled, “No man sends a woman to live in Paris if he doesn't have a special place in her heart. You’re too late Carrera.”

 

“He’s a dog!” Angie interjected “The man probably couldn't tie his own shoes without his butler on his knees in front of him!” Peggy snorted her own laugh into her drink. 

 

“It’s true,” Peggy sighed, “For as long as I’ve known him he’s been womanising, conniving, self centred…”

 

“Doesn’t he let you live in that mansion of yours for cheap?” Frankie asked with a mouth full of turkey.

 

“…Generous and very very dear friend of ours.” Peggy finished and raised her glass. Angie clinked it with her own. Smiling came easily, laughing wasn't far behind, Angie for once was rather quiet, studying her friend. 

 

She saw something she hadn't noticed before, or at least couldn't identify up until now. Her brothers, Peggy, free of the fear of losing them, and the relief that they were okay, now she could compare the mental pictures of who they once were, and who they are now. Pieces had been stolen, innocence, values, even candour. Missing in action.

 

“I can tell he's a diamond,” Maria gushed happily, “Boy or girl I’ll call our first born Tony _.”_

 

Peggy laughed and her glass met Maria’s before leaning back in her chair and murmuring,

 

“I think she should stick with college.”

 

“More wine English?” 

 

“Absolutely,” 

 

Angie chuckled as topped up their glasses. The evening was starting to wind down, five out of eight children had dropped like flies in random places. Angie hadn’t yet broken the habit of staring at Peggy yet, observing bordering on admiring like a little love drunk teenager. The liquor wasn't helping the overwhelming urge to stroke her silken locks over her pale ear. 

 

It wasn't until she felt a clamping on her thigh did she snap out of her languor. She looked down and spied Peggy’s hand straining above her knee. She tuned into the conversation finally, and understood why exactly the Agent’s jaw was locking and her eyes suddenly screaming.

 

“I saw Cap fling that thing clear forty metres, and it must’ve cut through six guys, the hundred and seventh Vino, saved my ass that day and the asses of sixty five other men-I swear to God!” Her brothers drawled hopelessly on sharing war stories, they’d been back long enough to know exactly which ones were appropriate for each other, of course they hadn't a hope of knowing they were sitting downwind from someone fresh of the u-boat. 

 

“Peggy?” Angie whispered and she barely cricked her neck to make eye contact. “Do you want to go?” she mouthed. Peggy shook her head in the negative. Angie wrapped her fingers around hers and squeezed. She didn't move. Angie took the initiative and knocked her wine onto Peggy’s lap.

 

“Angie!”

 

“Oh! Shoot sorry Peg! We can wash that out upstairs.” Barks of laughter followed them out as Angie yanked the Englishwoman up behind her. 

 

“Are you just hell bent on changing my entire outfit tonight?” Peggy mumbled as they reached the top step.

 

“Well no, but now that you mention it you could stand to lose the rod in all your jackets.”

 

“I suppose I should be thankful for that.” 

 

“What was that in there?” Angie gripped Peggy’s shoulder, to which Peggy slapped her hand atop on instinct. 

 

“Just a lapse. It happens darling.”

 

“Don’t _darling_ me, Peg. You’re in pain.” Peggy moved their fingers so they were intertwined, hoping to give comfort as well as to take. There were a million reasons why Peggy couldn't tell her anything, her life was at risk for one and still in flashes what she had seen and been worse than anything she had seen yet in the war, it even surpassed Red Skull. But the waitresses gaze was so fierce at loving it gave her pause, and it reminded her of just how much she owed. 

 

“Okay.”

 

“What?”

 

“I’ll tell you everything.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**One year ago.**

 

Every time Peggy had to leave, she bought flowers. Of course they were wilted and dry and dead by the time she got back but the first time she crossed the threshold with a fist full of Azaleas Angie had lit up over her favourite flower. Immediately spinning a yarn on family trips, piling into a truck with all her brothers and slumming it in the country of upper New York. But that was the first time, sure enough when she stepped into their house Angie would catch herself mid-step. Smile falling, the fact they're on borrowed time brought her guard up.

 

“How long?” she crossed her arms, Peggy resisted the urge to twist the stems in her fingers. 

 

“It’s difficult to say.” Peggy pursed her lips, it was never an easy answer, but the look on Angie’s face told her this was possibly the worst one yet.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“You know I can’t tell you that darling.”

 

“ _Plausible deniability._ ” Angie seethed quietly, not a question but a recycled answer. She stepped towards Peggy, if the Englishwoman wasn't trained to remain calm and collected in any hostile situation she might have flinched. Instead the actress snatched the flowers from her hands and yanked an empty vase from the new room book shelf.

 

She paced to the nearest faucet and Peggy couldn't stop herself from following.

 

“You know I’d tell you if it wouldn’t endanger you. It’s part of the job.”

 

“Knowing doesn't make it any easier coming home to Dracula’s haunted mansion all by myself.”

 

Peggy considered her roommate for the moment, realising the mansion didn't appeal to Angie just because of financial convenience.

 

“Would it make it easier if I let someone else move in with us? Someone else from Griffith.” Angie looked stung.

 

“ _No.”_ She snapped tucking the stems into the vase, before adding quietly, “This is _our_ home.”

 

It was easy to feel like the Stark mansion was becoming a home for Peggy, the more she thought about it, despite her missions, this was a place she’d spent the most time in. Growing and flourishing and making a life she could be proud of. Angie was a highlight of that. Sharing the cooking was a religious experience, Peggy had never had much cause to treat herself with gourmet food, but Angie insisted, and as usual, she was right. Peggy even adored the quiet nights flicking through radio channels, just sitting slowly being absorbed by the love seats.

 

“ _Ange_.” Peggy put her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder.

 

Peggy swore she saw tears bead in Angie’s eyes before the actresses hands flung out and clutched her close.

 

_“_ Come back safe y’hear me English?”

 

“Of course I will,”

 

“I’ll come looking for ya I mean it.” Angie leaned back so her fierce emerald gaze to lock and latch onto Peggy’s. She was as serious as the agent had ever seen her, this look coupled with the tight clamp the younger woman had on Peggy’s suit made her mouth go dry as she listened.“Even if it means I have to blackmail Stark for all the gadgets he has in that bunker of his. Leviathan’s got nothing on a pissed off Italian broad.”

 

Peggy couldn't risk showing her the affectionate expression that she felt burgeoning her face so she hugged her to hide it. Angie knew too much already she decided. 

 

“I’ll call as soon as I can.”

 

**Six months ago.**

 

The laboratory was moving. Country to country, barely traceable slipping through the SSR’s fingers like smoke. Peggy stood now in the last shell of this hermit crab, smirking. They were close, desks were tipped over, papers not fully burned, hell the doors were left wide open. 

 

Thompson was milling around like a kid in a candy store, for the first time in months they had leads and it was showing. Even Sousa was smiling at him, bagging papers and canisters, limping from one toppled desk with a skip. Jarvis followed after, scribbling down notes and attending to every detail.

 

Thompson had reached the end of his half of the room, hands ripping the cupboards open to get to the shiny treats inside. The latch snapped open, Peggy’s first instinct was to laugh when his head flipped back and hair flopped out of place, until gas started streaming out and Jack fell to the ground. 

 

What happened next was a series of blurring occurrences that led Peggy to believe one dream had phased into the next. Nothing was wrong, she was sure of it. Not when Steve was smiling at her. He was in civilian clothes, a rare sight in an of itself, a sports coat and slacks, and had squeezed his huge feet into the thinnest dancing shoes she’d ever seen.

 

He ambled to her shoe rack, from her apartment deep in the city, one she had retained for any leave she might take during the war, which of course she never did. “What about these?” he asked raising a pair of bold rouge lollypop shoes for her to inspect, “You look good in red… not that you don’t look good in any other colour, great even, the whole rainbow makes you-is good-pretty,”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” she stopped him with an amused smile and a palm on his impressive chest, “Those are too high for dancing.”

 

“Oh. _Oh_ well alright, far be it from me to tell a lady how to dress… but if I know my dancing you might want to get your combat boots…” he trailed off, watching in awe as she swished her hair from one ear to the other, nimbly fixing and earring to each lobe in quick succession.

 

“Darling you’ll be fine. I’ll lead.”

 

“ _Good,”_ he let out a puff of relief and glanced at his watch to hide it, “I don’t want to miss the Stork Club before it flies away.” Peggy’s numb lips curled up at his attempt of a joke.

 

“I’m sure they’ll keep it open for Captain America.” 

 

He chagrinned, hands deep in his pocket in that shy way of his, blue eyes brighter than she remembered them. He sauntered towards her, dimly registered the skip that throbbed in her chest then, not hopeful, something of a reminder, he leaned close, as if about to pass her but before he did he whispered.

 

“I hope I don’t step on your…”

 

A nasally overtly enthusiastic voice cut off his last words. Loud and screeching, Peggy whirled as the piercing tones threw her off balance.

 

_“The Captain America Adventure Hour Presents Women of War time, assembling our munitions! Tending our farms! Raising the little ones while the men fight the good fight! Preparing home for the heroes welcome return! You go gal pals! Keep the home fires burning!”_

 

“What?” She turned, panic rising. Immediately drummed out by the small Italian woman now stepping out of their kitchen and promptly gawking at her. 

 

“Angela?”

 

“Pegs!” She turned on her heel, running to her friend at a speed that was impossibly slow, but somehow to Peggy it happened all too fast. Nimble arms crushed her ribs, suddenly Peggy found it stifling to breathe. Her fingers wove into hair but the silk was lost on the agent, she closed her eyes and tried to be in this moment, but all attempts failed. Angie stepped back, smiling, “I missed you English.” she gushed. 

 

“I missed…” Peggy began, looking down on Angie and remembering just all of the things she had missed, quiet unspoken moments, something she’d never before shared, and at that moment failed to explain. 

 

A blush dusted the younger woman’s cheeks as she unlatched, she kept her hand on Peggy’s though, insistent as she marched her through Howard’s Mansion.

 

“Of coursed you’ve missed so much!” Angie finished for her, “There’s got to be food and a warm bed and oh! Couches! My brother Frankie said he hated not having couches when he was at Normandy - drove him mad _ain’t no European ever heard of sitting’ down!_ He wrote such nonsense but its strange the things you go without…” 

 

She kept on rambling as comforts sprang from her left and right, she brought out pie, tea, cushions and blankets, and before Peggy could gather mind enough to laugh they were wrapped hip to hip, nursing tea as Peggy clung to the joyful chorus of Angie’s voice, accented only by the sweet lullaby of Glen Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade.”

 

Peggy could feel nothing but the comforts of Angie’s voice, it’s breathlessness as she squeezed months worth of intel into those short moments. Alas nothing was meant to last, the vision began to ebb, no matter how hard Peggy told her fingers to squeeze on Angela’s. 

 

_Keep the home fires burning,_   she heard it as a choked whisper, foul on the air, tainting and unwanted. She curled her nose and gazed out the window. It was dark outside, though a dim street lamp lit the pavilion weakly. As she watched it flickered, and sang.

 

_All your hearts are yearning_ ,

 

“Angie?”

 

“Yeah Pegs?”

 

“Can you hear that?” The lamp fizzled more harshly now, sputtering like it was fighting for breath.

 

“That’s Glen Miller, _fantastic ain’t he?”_ She gushed about hearing his orchestra play in Madison Square garden but Peggy could hardly concentrate. She felt the drag of harsh, cold wind in their living room. The silken palm of Angie’s tender grip turned to marble as ice dripped down her spine.

 

_Though your lads are far away they dream of home_ , this line was joined by a hacking, moist cough, shuddering breath.

 

_Theres a silver lining through the dark cloud shining_ , Peggy’s breath turned to mist, the tears beading in her eyes threatened to turn into ice.

 

“Peggy?” Angie’s voice was brimming with concern and fear, Peggy couldn't feel her own face but she knew the expression was frightening her friend. Her breath was heaving, fighting the sudden cold, the suffocating dark.

 

“Angie don’t let me go.” 

 

“Pegs I… I can’t.”

 

And just like that; the dream became a nightmare.

 

_Turn the dark cloud inside out till the boys come home._ The lamp died. Darkness swallowed them, and Peggy no longer had any proof that she was with Angie any more. She was on the ground. Ice clawing her front as she burrowed deep, avoiding the rip of bullets. She looked ahead of her, bleeding wheezing and _singing,_ was Private Charles. His own hand buried in his ribs to stem the flow, it didn't take a doctor to know he wasn't going to make it. Lord only knows what possessed him to _sing_.

 

Peggy remembers this day as the worst of her war, endless, freezing, weaponless, all she could do was watch the massacre until support arrived. Hiding like a coward, bleeding from her shoulder. She felt a thud beside her and flinched into a defensive curl. When nothing happened she snuck a peek, once warm blue eyes had turned icy and were wide open. His hair fell in a matted mess, his strong jaw was open in surprise and while he looked wholly unlike the Steve she remembered, this was him; dead. 

 

Before she could scream someone else did, her head whipping up she saw Angie, thrashing like a wild cat against a man emblazoned with swastikas, gripped her arms and yanking her relentlessly. 

 

“ _Don’t you touch her!”_

 

Peggy felt her voice leave her like fire from a dragon, ignoring her pain and feeling only rage she lunged clawing and pounding blindly. 

 

“Carter! Margaret! Madge!” It was then she realised this was Sousa, gripping her arms, while Jarvis injected something into her neck. She fell to her knees hands splayed, shivering as her wide brown eyes took in every inch of the lab. Thompson sat leaning against the wall, staring at his own hands as if they had been acting all on their own. His eyes clashed with hers, and the two recoiled from each other, even though they were on opposite sides of the room.

 

“Antivenom.” Jarvis explained, “It seems it works on the copycats serum just as well as our own.”

 

“You okay Carter?” She felt a warm hand branding between her shoulder blades, though intended to give comfort she flinched. Spying the hurt on her colleagues face, she forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes, all the while burrowing the thumb of one hand into the palm of another, as if to erase the sting of blood there.

 

“I don’t honestly know.”

 

When Sousa noticed she fed her hand into her jacket pocket, lightly thumbing the envelopes the kept with her at all times, knowing by heart where her skin could find the words.

 

_Love always,_

_Angie_

 

**Today**

 

Alone in Angela’ s bedroom, Peggy felt the nightmares that haunted her, on and off, for years. Glen Miller wasn't the same. The first thing she did when she returned the mansion, pacing room to room looking for Angie, was rip shut those blasted living room curtains. So lost was she in those thoughts, she didn't even notice the actress had returned successful, a bottle of Irish cream and two glasses in her fingers.

 

“Hey,” Angie whispered softly, it lifted Peggy’s spirits and with it her eyes. Then she was glad of the rain, because her heart was an erratic and incessant drum of panic beneath her own ribs. 

 

Angie placed the glasses on the windowsill between them, handing a teddy to Peggy to clear a space. She didn't join her however, not until she tinkered with a dusty old portable record player, turning the knob it was raised from the dead. The actress had no way of knowing the way the song would make Peggy feel like the dogs of war were at her back.

 

“One song before we drink.” Angie grinned, only to have it freeze when Peggy snatched her hand at lighting speed. Angie looked at her and saw the panic, letting go of the contraption to sit beside her panicking friend. She had been promised a confession, some thing she now knew couldn't be lightened by booze or music. “ _Peggy_.” 

 

She barely thought about her hand placement, but Angie found her palm warming the crook of the Englishwoman’s jaw. Her thumb reaching up to wipe a tear. While all she could hear was the rain, it wasn't enough to drown out ”Moonlight Serenade” Peggy’s memories.

 

“Peg?” She tried again, only accomplishing in getting the Agent to open her eyes. The hazel began to swirl, and Angie wasn't sure if she were about to vomit or lose consciousness, but her grip remained tight on her hands and breathing slowly steadied. She strained her ears for every sound the Englishwoman made, without noticing her breath mingled with hers, foreheads a breath away from each other as they gravitated towards each other.

 

“ _Your letters._ ” She almost flinched when finally she spoke, taking a breath, Peggy found the will to carry on, somewhat calmly, although her voice teetered on breaking, “I loved them.”

 

“Really Peg?” Not like, _love._ Angie felt a jolt, white hot somewhere between her heart, brain and stomach, ricocheting off of each vital organ. 

 

“I-They got me through the worst of it. Imagining your voice. Knowing you were still there…” She continued while Angie was speechless, trying not to let her pure joy show on her face, even as Peggy clung to her wrists tighter. “I had a favourite. Probably one of the first, _Goodness is a part of eternity. As I have said before, as a human you must not be idealised, but there is so much of goodness in you…All my love… Angie.”_

 

Angieclosed her eyes as she listened, remembering how it felt to write every loop and letter, how then she wanted Peggy to think, _to know,_ that no matter what happened, she was still good. She was still pure. To Angie she was perfect. She parted her lips, and through the warm dark and the loud rain she knew that Peggy Carter was listening just as intently. “ _I missed you English.”_

 

The next breath was stolen, popped, the grip on her wrists were adjusted, and pulled at and Angie’s lips parted in shock as she felt Peggy’s own hard kiss. Lipstick silky and mouth insistent, Peggy let got of her wrists to hold her arms, barely registering that, yes, Angie was kissing back, just as wild and just as desperate. 

 

“Peg-” Angie began, turning her head and cupping her cheeks, begging for something deeper, softer and longer, knee pushing the glass and liquor onto the ground where it cracked. Just as quickly as it began Peggy sprang back, eyes wide, standing. “Peggy what’s wrong?”

 

“ _I can’t do this._ ”

 

“Peg!” Angie almost shrieked, she thought the absence of lips alone might kill her then.

 

“Your parents are right down stairs for Christ’s sake! I don’t know what I’m _thinking-_ ” Out of the two emotions Angela was feeling, rage was the preferable option.

 

“Margaret Carter don’t you _dare_ make excuses for what just happened-its been a long time in the coming believe you me! Now get back here!” For a moment she thought she had torn it all down, that Peggy was in no state to be yelled at and her genuine trepidation for having feelings for a woman shouldn't have been second guessed. Until the unthinkable happened, The Agent’s lipstick-smudged mouth fell open and she began to laugh, to snicker with surprise.

 

She just about managed to collect herself wiping giggle tears away, but was unable to mask the sorrow from her voice now.

 

“I thought you were- that you would hate-You wanted that?” 

 

“I’ve been dying for it Peg.” She stood to meet her, gently slipping her arms around her waist and praying she wouldn't run away, pressing up on her bare toes to hover her mouth over hers. Heart thudding, brain not quite believing what was going on, lips playing around the words, “ _Don’t make me wait anymore.”_


	4. Chapter 4

Something in that moment rendered her speechless, which was the same as catatonic in any Martinelli’s predilection. It was just everything felt so raw. Even the gentlest touch, even the way the Agent’s hands cupped her jaw and stroked the blade of her thumb across Angie’s cheek was almost too much to bear. It was like stepping into the sun after a month in darkness, a year even, blinding, brilliant, burning and bloody fantastic. Angie had no other choice than to grab at it with both hands. 

 

Minutes had passed now, and nothing had happened. Angie’s eyes were darting from each tiny minuscule feature on Peggy’s face, she noticed the slight tremble in her lips, and the way tears jewelled over her eyelashes, silently and in a way that was oh so Peggy. Angie had considered the distance that had been between them for so long, and perhaps it was because they had been so far apart it was easier to fall in love with that ideal person, just out of reach. Perhaps now that Peggy had her, she knew it wasn't what she wanted, and just what felt good at the time. She knew about soldiers who wrote home to unmarried women, married women, to anyone, these weren't the people they ended up with. Sometimes they were planning ideal homes without realising they couldn't belong there. Sometimes they just didn't care enough to tell the truth. Angie suddenly felt like a fantasy and a joke rolled into one.

 

For the most part, these soldiers were simply not who they said they were, playing parts and fantasising in the long dark. Some returned angry, fierce, deadly. Men walking the streets of New York with the safety off, Angie read about them all the time. Peggy’s war never seemed to end, and perhaps what was just as disturbing, she never let it surface until now. 

 

Angie felt a need pulsating from her strong hands, her arms, the intense way her gaze held her and her heart beat through the blanketing hiss of rain. She’d been starved of contact for months, even Peggy appreciated a firm hand shake, a supporting graze on her arm, a tight comforting hug, that much was clear. Perhaps she was cashing in what what she had missed after all this time, and the exposure was too much that now she stood there frozen.

 

The young woman swallowed, and powered through what could possibly have been her last words.

 

“Don’t do this if you don't mean it English.” She bit her lower lip to keep from sobbing herself before letting go, if she were crying too she couldn't feel it, she hadn't blinked in so long her eyes were  starting to burn.

 

Angie didn't know what she expected, she’d dared to dream, telling herself if she didn't she’d die from the blood vessel that swelled in her brain whenever she fought the urge to think of Peggy this way. The cling of her hands, the taste of her lips, how she would look in the mornings wrapped in only silk and her arms folded around the Italian woman’s body, whether her toes would be hot or cold against hers when she crawled into their bed after going god knows where.

 

As her lips hovered over their mark her imaginings never conjured anything as exquisite to the way Peggy was looking at her then. She was surprised by calloused fingers when she raised her hands to touch her face. Peggy had mentioned that the ice had been harsh one winter in Serbia, and in patches her skin had never quite recovered its softness. Angie knew then she wanted to kiss every inch, to murmur healing thoughts and nonsense into the scars while Peggy combed her fingers through her hair. These thoughts of pure utter joyful imagination filled her to the brim, and like any human exposed to what could become the perfect world, Angie filibustered, unable to bear it.

 

“…I can’t do this if you think this is somethin’ else Engles… I can’t be a stand in for someone you’ve lost and I know others might say what I _want_ is wrong but I can't have it any other way-,“

 

The spy turned her head and finally kissed Angie’s jaw.

 

“ _Darling…_ ” she whispered that damned accent of hers that sending icy shivers scoring down the actress’s spine. “Darling, oh Angie.” Peggy breathed into the skin, her tone was warming, despite the season, the rain, the flashes of cold blinding white light cutting through the air, Peggy’s whole heart was in those words and they filled her. 

 

The Englishwoman leaned back, and Angie was afraid she’d changed her mind, but what she saw was proof of everything she believed. This wasn't a confused vixen of war, but a gentle, intelligent woman, her hazel eyes swirling, as bright and as hopeful as Angie had ever seen them, and whose soul, reflected her own. 

 

There was no need to say anything else, Angie raised her hand behind Peggy’s neck and guided her lips back to her mouth, a move that started hungry and fierce but as they finally accepted that the other wasn't the figment of alcohol, sleep deprivation or general heartbreaking mindlessness it fell into something sweeter. 

 

Heart thrumming in her chest the actress plucked up the confidence to bite her lower lip, but soon her kisses fell away to other places equally as exquisite. Her jaw, throat, collar bones and back up, not quick frantic pecks, but slow languid strokes of her of her lips that never left the flushed skin. The sensations raked through Angie’s body and without thinking she clenched her fist tight into the Englishwoman’s locks. Peggy made a noise then, it wasn't completely pain, nor pleasure, but somewhere dead in between in the spectrum.

 

Angie let her head tilt back, partially to give her better access, partially to thank the God that thought they were sinners for Peggy’s mouth, _and Christ her teeth_. 

 

“ _Wait.”_ Angie breathed, twisting yanking the chair from the dressing table and expertly jammed it beneath the door handle. 

 

“Perfect.” Peggy whispered, intending the word to sound less breathy as she pressed the actress into the wall beside it.

 

Hands worked of their own volition, numbly yet skilfully unclasping starch uniform buttons until Peggy’s shirt fell to the ground beside them. Angie bowed her head without a word, pressing kisses to the thin peach strap of the agent’s camisole. Suddenly she felt Peggy stop, stop pressing forward, but not pulling back just absorbing the glory Angie’s absolute affection. 

 

She tugged her back gently, until she had stepped out of her skirt and was sitting on the bed. From one moment to the next, Angie was straddling her, looming, kissing madly as if she would drown without Peggy on her lips. The Agent felt good to finally lose her grip on control, for once she felt safe enough to breathe, the taste the atmosphere, and savour it surrounding her body. 

 

She flinched suddenly noticed when the power not for a flash but the opposite, the lamps had flickered off, the thrumming of nearby wires and heaters had ceased. The quilted sheets hit her bare back then, unable to tell just how successful they had been in undressing either woman, she found herself gripping Angie’s arm and skirt harshly, without entirely meaning to.

 

“Angie don’t let me go.” 

 

Angie stared hard at the silhouette she had been kissing, the strangled glint in her dark eyes and the gleam of red in the refracted moon light. The desperate ire in her lover’s voice made her pause; it was just as terrifying as any scream.

 

“Never again.” she assured, it could have been a lie and she was aware of that, but that didn't mean Angie would let it become one with her every breath. Never the less it was all Peggy needed to hear. Her fingers curled around the younger girls thighs and pulled her higher on her body, leaning against the headboard herself. While she had plans for her mouth being where her head had been seconds before, at this very moment Margaret Carter couldn't bear to have Angela Martinelli’s lips anywhere but on her own. 

 

Stockings torn apart by both their hands stood no chance now against the agent, whose fingers were dancing in the crux of Angie’s thigh, not quite tickling, not quite stroking either. If Angie didn't know any better, she might have felt like Peggy was playing with her, and not in the fun way. The Agent hesitated, nipping at the skin, and pretending not to notice the agony in which she was keeping her lover. 

 

Angie parted her legs further as if it would encourage her to go on. She let out an indignant whine as she kissed her, hard, urging and finally she manoeuvred a hand that made the Italian woman grip the headboard with both hands.

 

The noises Angie made could have made the agent melt into the ether if she were a lesser being, still as her fingers delved inside her, and thumb stroked hard slow paths, watching as her eyes adjusted the actress’ face pinched with ecstasy. She was on the edge, but doing everything she could to not cross that line. 

“Angie darling?”

 She opened her mouth and spoke after releasing an unprecedented whine.

“It’s gotta _last._ ” She explained.

Angie was losing it, holding on by her fingertips and clinging to her concentration. Until she realised this was only the beginning, Peggy would still be there when she let go, within arms reach to pull back in, to explore deeper, longer and taste every perfect inch of her skin.

“You’re amazing.”

“Don’t tell me that I can’t take it.”

“You are Pegs-” she aimed her lips over Peggy’s then to stem the undignified noise that came as her inner walls squeezed against her digits, and Angie shuddered uncontrollably. Peggy’s free arm wrapping across her back to keep her close and upright, she was becoming undone as Peggy pulled and pushed into her pulsating pleasure, pumping harder and faster, rippling outwards as she came and let out a tuneless, odd shivering cry against her, scoring her nails across the agent’s shoulder where there had once been bruises.

A numbness washed over her body then, Angie couldn't recall the moment she was laid down, or the next, as Peggy pulled the duvet over her as the chill from the power cut began to set in. Chest heaving, eyes closed in bliss, she pawed blindly for Peggy and found her silken locks quickly knotted between her slender fingers.

“ _Peggy get up here_.” Her voice hoarse from emotion. Eyes met in the dark, and Angie worked out where her mouth was probably numb and puffy by this point so she took care in her kiss, light, skating almost before adding, “There is _so much good_ in you English.”

Peggy bowed her head, Angie took it upon herself to cradle her against her chest. It killed her that even now her demons were still clawing at her. The actress drew lazy soothing circles on her scalp until she felt the press of lips to her collar bone.

“ _All my love_.” Peggy answered back, punctuating the quote with a kiss. Calm, for then, until a voice cut through the hiss of rain and the thudding of their chests, yet neither of them had spoken.

“Angela?”

 


End file.
